Whose marrow now, the bone-white birch, still remembers the weight of wings that were never meant to keep ghosts, only borrow them like library books, overdue. Come dawn, the river spits out all our drowned names, in perfect alphabetical order,...

"Oh dash it all!" cried he, in tones most desolate. "Pray tell me, chaps—have you observed, my toddy’s wayward fate?""...before the friar's gateit vanished, quite without a trace, like empire’s fading gleam, one sip too short of paradise—""But now it’s...

head's all up in a haze no one cares for me oh well, it's all i have to say telling myself it'll be ok morning will shine light some other day ups and downs, right now diving in a tailspin thinking i need to rethink...